


jumps7ar7

by fishcola



Series: (1)nterl(0)ck(ed) [2]
Category: Cyberpunk Red, Polygon/McElroy Vlogs & Podcasts RPF
Genre: Amnesia / Memory Loss, Canon-Typical Violence, Detox, Drug Addiction, Dubious Consent, M/M, Moral Ambiguity, Other, also ambiguous dubcon due to coercion, ambiguous dubcon due to power imbalance, brief mention of watersports!, first meeting headcanon, transactional sex, wretched eye dialect
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-12
Updated: 2019-10-24
Packaged: 2020-12-13 21:17:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21004325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fishcola/pseuds/fishcola
Summary: jumpstartverb/ˈdʒʌmpˌstɑrt/To execute an emergency procedure for starting a vehicle with discharged or dead battery, by temporary connection to an external source of power.(figurative) To start (something) rapidly or forcefully by application of an external stimulus; to re-energize (an activity proceeding sluggishly).





	1. jumps7ar7

**Author's Note:**

> please heed dubcon/noncon warnings in tags.  
also the eye dialect is pretty gratin', dontchaknow.

0̺̜̠͉͓̯͎͎̼̰́̓̿̍̚͝͝0̹͔̯͍͖̳͐͆̂̐͑̄̀̄0̴̨̝̦̘͈̏̐͆̅1̛̮̟̮̙̩̻̓̾̃͛̑̋͂͝1͉̠̩͎̓̽̿̍̂̾͢͢͜0̸̧̯̟͚̼̤͖̜̍͛̐̆͝͡1̧̝̟̬̪̼̓̊̃̎̽͠0̲̠̜͔̖̥̹̟͋͑̔̿̍̉͑1̱͍̹̫͕̖̮̅̾̈́̾̇͐͡1̸̛̩͚̻̖̹̪̄̓̑̑͆̌͟ͅ0͚̲̫̬͙̱͗̍̓͌͑̄̎̔ͅ1̴̼͇͎͕͉̈́̈́̓̎̕͝ͅ0̟̦͈̫͎̄̿́͐̋̕͜ͅ1̡̢͖͓͚̫͍͎̍̀̉͐̈̍̏͊͛,

He _ could _just make the kid sleep in the van. 

That’s what Burger does, most nights, even when he’s not on the road, on a job. Sometimes he’s cross-town on a late night stake-out, spittin’ sunflower seeds (ya gotta have sunflower seeds on a stakeout) and leaning back the driver’s seat to snooze. Sometimes he’s feelin’ particularly beat and stretches out in the back, head on his folded up jacket and hand on his gun. 

But Vang0 might complain, sleepin' rough like that. The floor of the van’s hard and cold and there isn’t much by way of blankets. Kid’s got a jacket now but still nothing on his skinny legs, not even a lick of hair. Odd, that. He seems pretty hairy in general—fuzz peeking up at his chest, his brushy mustache—but his legs are silky smooth. Burger felt them, when he first grabbed at that bare bony ankle, felt them smooth and tense and slim and fighting and going pebbly with goosebumps— 

he shakes his head. So what, if he’ll be cold. Doesn’t matter much, what his legs look like, feel like— 

doesn’t matter. Burger’s not keen to drive all the way across town this late, just to sleep a coupla hours and then head all the way back out in the morning again. If Vang0 doesn’t like it, he can take a hike. 

He might do that, honestly. Take a hike, if he gets fed up. He musta realized that Burger’s not got a lot worth stealing. No drugs to share. Vang0’s smart, and he’s cute, and he’s got a kind of prissy look about him too, even more so now that he’s cleaned up. Like a trust-fund kiddie who flamed outta mech school. Someone who’s used to getting what he wants. And surely he wants a bit more’n’a night spent sleeping in a beat-up old van. 

Yeah, if Vang0 stuck out his thumb on the highway, someone’d definitely pick him up. Little gaunt, but some people are into that, and it doesn’t take much away from— 

Burger shakes his head. Still. Kid’s in a pretty bad way. Might be too strung out ta go wanderin’. 

Chainz offered a dropoff at Hypo’s, but Vang0 rejected that with a twitched expression—fair enough, sobriety isn’t for everyone. He claims he hasn’t got the cash to rent a pod, which makes sense. And he can’t remember any overpass or sewer drain or hollowed-out old server den he mighta lived outta, just like he can’t recall any neo-kitsch silicon tycoon relation who he can go begging for cash. He’s got nothing. 

So he probably wouldn’t leave, actually. Better the devil you know, no matter how rough he’s livin’. Maybe Vang0’d be _ grateful, _to spend a night curled up on the floor of a dirty old van. Probably wouldn’t even mind if Burger curled up next to him. Might suck it up, his complainin’, just to have warm body around him— 

Burger shakes his head, which seems to scare Vang0, makes him startle. He’s got up only to his knees, not standin’ all the way. He picked himself up right quick when Burger opened the van door and announced only one more errand for the night, but he’s been blank-faced and staring now for durn near a minute, as if hung up on a puzzle with a few missin’ pieces. 

“Can I—um. Let me stay with you a few days, Burger. I can—um. I’ll make it worth your while…?”

There’s something in there, honey-smooth and sultry— 

then it statics, freezes, resets back to flat-eyed desperation. Mighta been a bit of a flirt, this little guy, ‘fore his circuits got fried. He’s got the look, the tilt of the head, the cant of his hips—-and then that charm breaks, jerky and fragmented, like a record player smashed all to hell and valiantly skipping over a scratched-up Sinatra. 

Ya don’t get too far in Night City if ya spend your time pickin’ up free riders. Especially not ones who put away food like it’s goin’ out of style, who’re lookin’ for a sucker, a place to soft crash on unknown drugs. Vang0’s batting those big doll eyes, but he’s also groping for Burger’s lapel with fingers that tremble, every inch of him the wiry dope fiend that’s gonna be more trouble than he’s worth. 

“Ya’right. Stay a couple nights, then,” Burger says, before he can think too hard. It’s been years since _ that’s _been a good idea. 

Vang0’s whole body slackens, when he says that, like a fish cut loose from a net. He’s back curled up and sleeping quick as anything, sleeps all through the last job. He snores. It’s cute. 

Burger _ could _just stay out the rest’a the night, parked in one of them linux slums uptown. Doesn’t seem like the kid’s complainin’.

He could stay out. He normally would. But he’s got this little weirdo in tow, so, well, he goes home. 

0̺̜̠͉͓̯͎͎̼̰́̓̿̍̚͝͝0̹͔̯͍͖̳͐͆̂̐͑̄̀̄0̴̨̝̦̘͈̏̐͆̅1̛̮̟̮̙̩̻̓̾̃͛̑̋͂͝1͉̠̩͎̓̽̿̍̂̾͢͢͜0̸̧̯̟͚̼̤͖̜̍͛̐̆͝͡1̧̝̟̬̪̼̓̊̃̎̽͠0̲̠̜͔̖̥̹̟͋͑̔̿̍̉͑1̱͍̹̫͕̖̮̅̾̈́̾̇͐͡1̸̛̩͚̻̖̹̪̄̓̑̑͆̌͟ͅ0͚̲̫̬͙̱͗̍̓͌͑̄̎̔ͅ1̴̼͇͎͕͉̈́̈́̓̎̕͝ͅ0̟̦͈̫͎̄̿́͐̋̕͜ͅ1̡̢͖͓͚̫͍͎̍̀̉͐̈̍̏͊͛

_ Home _isn’t much. Just a cheap little storage unit on the outskirts of the warehouse district—somewhere the stock robots don’t go pokin’. No oven or sink or window or nothin’, but a foreman out here owes Burger a couple favors and that means he got the key to the place for a song. He could prob’ly find somewhere a little nicer, but what’s the point? All he needs is somewhere to rest his head, to keep his clothes, a router, a mattress to sleep on. Not complicated. Burger likes to keep it simple. 

Well. Usually. 

He undoes the padlock, rolls up the door. He winces—it’s loud as sin, it’s bound to— 

no, actually. Doesn’t wake him. Kid’s still out cold in the back of the van. He looks...well. Burger can’t honestly say he looks _ bad_, but he sure as hell looks miserable. Hair plastered to his forehead with cold sweat, muscles jumping under his skin, breathing short and stuttered. Fuck. This is gonna be a _ hell _of a time, and Burger doesn’t want—he’s no Hypo—if he could find the kid a hit he’d just— 

fuck. There’s no way to even know what he’s gonna be craving.

Chainz picks up the limp hot-cold body, feels the bones shift under his grip. There’s bags of flour he’s lifted that’s heavier. Fuck. 

He presses the kid into the bed, piles blankets on him, which makes him whine in his sleep and clutch at Burger’s forearms. _ Fuck. _

Burger extracts himself, ducks out into the alley. Gets some space to—to make a call. 

  
0̺̜̠͉͓̯͎͎̼̰́̓̿̍̚͝͝0̹͔̯͍͖̳͐͆̂̐͑̄̀̄0̴̨̝̦̘͈̏̐͆̅1̛̮̟̮̙̩̻̓̾̃͛̑̋͂͝1͉̠̩͎̓̽̿̍̂̾͢͢͜0̸̧̯̟͚̼̤͖̜̍͛̐̆͝͡1̧̝̟̬̪̼̓̊̃̎̽͠0̲̠̜͔̖̥̹̟͋͑̔̿̍̉͑1̱͍̹̫͕̖̮̅̾̈́̾̇͐͡1̸̛̩͚̻̖̹̪̄̓̑̑͆̌͟ͅ0͚̲̫̬͙̱͗̍̓͌͑̄̎̔ͅ1̴̼͇͎͕͉̈́̈́̓̎̕͝ͅ0̟̦͈̫͎̄̿́͐̋̕͜ͅ1̡̢͖͓͚̫͍͎̍̀̉͐̈̍̏͊͛,  


“Burger!” 

“Hey Tap. Hows-by-you?” 

“Still livin! Things’ve cooled down a bit since last month—thanks for that, by the way. You?” 

“Fair to middlin’. Hey, I gotta question for ya.” 

“Shoot, BC.” 

“You know what kinda dope’d wipe your memories?”

“I mean...anything if you take enough of it, Burg. Are you...are you all right?” 

“Oh yah,” Burger laughs. “Not askin’ for me. Met a guy who can’t remember anything before yesterday. Seems smart enough now, talks fine. Just clean can’t remember who he is. Nothing you know’d do that, then?” 

“Mmm.” Tap pauses, reflects. Burger can hear the clink of his fingers on something glass. “Retrograde, huh? Nothing anterograde?”

“What’s that mean, Tap?”

“Can he remember new stuff? Your name, things that happened earlier?” 

“Yeah, so far.” Burger pauses. “Maybe we’ll see, but he’s kept up for a day or so.” 

There’s a sound of rapid typing, almost painfully loud, keys with a long travel and a sharp mechanical click. One of Tap’s affectations. 

“Think it’s just a side effect, Burg? Or the prime therapeutic.” 

“Oh ah…not sure. Maybe the prime. Someone had him locked in a warehouse, ya know? Mighta been they didn’t want him to remember who.” 

“Sucks for him,” Tap says absently, falling silent as he searches. For a few minutes he goes on, stoppin’ at times to ask Burger for details — injection site, what his pupils look like, where abouts he got found—nothing turns up easy, but Tap promises to keep at it. To shoot a message Burger’s way before the worst of the detox hits. Just to give him an idea what to look out for. Shakes, skin-scratching, hallucinations, temper—depends on what he’s on, how bad this reboot’s gonna go. 

Burger’s not _ worried. _It’s not like Vang0 could hurt him. But well. It’d be nice ta know what fool thing he’s signed himself up for. 

  
0̺̜̠͉͓̯͎͎̼̰́̓̿̍̚͝͝0̹͔̯͍͖̳͐͆̂̐͑̄̀̄0̴̨̝̦̘͈̏̐͆̅1̛̮̟̮̙̩̻̓̾̃͛̑̋͂͝1͉̠̩͎̓̽̿̍̂̾͢͢͜0̸̧̯̟͚̼̤͖̜̍͛̐̆͝͡1̧̝̟̬̪̼̓̊̃̎̽͠0̲̠̜͔̖̥̹̟͋͑̔̿̍̉͑1̱͍̹̫͕̖̮̅̾̈́̾̇͐͡1̸̛̩͚̻̖̹̪̄̓̑̑͆̌͟ͅ0͚̲̫̬͙̱͗̍̓͌͑̄̎̔ͅ1̴̼͇͎͕͉̈́̈́̓̎̕͝ͅ0̟̦͈̫͎̄̿́͐̋̕͜ͅ1̡̢͖͓͚̫͍͎̍̀̉͐̈̍̏͊͛,  


He twists his comm off and pulls the door up—expects it to wake Vang0, but again he’s wrong. Not sleepin’. The scrawny body's pulled up sittin' in the blankets, tapping away at his tiny screen. 

"Howya feelin'?" 

“Good!” Vang0 lies, snaps the laptop shut, turns his body to Burger, ghosts a smile. He’s outta that leotard now, in one of Burger’s clean white wifebeaters—too big, slipping off his shoulders. 

“Think ya might get some sleep tonight?” 

“Mmmhmm,” he chirps, leans back on his elbows, cocks his head. “But I’m cold. Might need you next to me to keep me warm.” 

Burger coughs, looks away. Pushes off any deeper implications. “Sorry it’s cold in here,” he offers, as he strips his vest off, his jeans. “No heatin’ in an E-Z-Stor. But I got the coil on now. It’ll warm up.” 

There’s nothing weird about sharin’ a bed with a fella. Chainz has done it plenty of times. Got up ta mischief in a hayloft. Crawled into Dasha’s big four-poster. Huddled under a crowded overhang in the rain. Vang0’s strange, but it’s no trouble. 

Still. Burger feels a burn of something, pauses while turning down the covers. Nerves, maybe. 

It’s—well, it’s partly ‘cause Vang0’s beautiful. Kinda got an innocent thing going, despite the snark, the front of toughness. Doesn’t matter how hard ya kick, when you weigh about ninety pounds and ya got big blue eyes that are wide and worried and there’s absolutely no one in the whole damn city to call on for help. That last bit reminds Burger of himself a little, back when he first left the farm. Except— 

well, except Vang0’s beautiful. Even though he’s fucked up. Maybe a little bit _ because _he’s fucked up. That’s a trail of thought Burger’s not much inclined to follow down to its end. 

“What are you thinking about?” Vang0 asks. He’s beckoning, voice jitters a little but hand’s steady as it reaches, tugs. “Get in bed.” 

Burger does. Lets himself just be—be pulled, lets himself just think about how it feels, those ice-cold fingertips on his wrist. It’s nice to be touched. It’s been a while. Usually he’s the one that does the touching. 

The one hand stays circled tight around his wrist, the other fingers drag purposeful up his arm, his veins, his skin. He might be feelin’ for augs, a port somewhere or an embedded ridge of myo-fibers. Nothin’ to find, though. Burger bought the eye, the jaw, but he got his arms the hard way, baling hay and wrangling cattle back when the world was wild and free and, in some folks’ opinion, undermonetized. 

He feels outside of his own body, as Vang0 tugs his hand on over and buries it in that blonde rats-nest of his. It’s clean but far from tidy—Burger can feel the knots, the frizzy places where the bleached-out strands catch on each other. He digs his fingers in, scratches at the scalp on instinct. Vang0 makes a warm little hum of pleasure, leans into it. He’s like an old barn cat, nock-eared and mangy, but just beggin’ for a few kind touches and a lick of cream. 

Vang0 detaches the hand from his hair then, pulls it down, and before ya know it that smart mouth is licking up Burger’s fingers. They probably taste of motor grease, of god-knows-what, but he doesn’t seem to care. He sucks them into his mouth, two of ‘em, down his throat smooth as anything, no hesitation whatsoever. Maybe he _ was _a hooker before, if he’s got talents like that, maybe— 

“Hey—” Burger forces out, pulls away, too sharp, too hard, makes Vang0 gag. “Gosh I—sorry,” he stutters out, as the kid chokes himself back right. 

“ ‘Sfine,” Vang0 coughs, gives a little smile. “I’m good. Want me to try again, or…?” 

“I don’t—no. Ya don’t need to do that.” 

“Okay.” He nods sharp. His chin is so—well, Burger can easily imagine holding it between just two fingers. “Let’s move along then? How do you want me.” 

“I—no, no. It’s not like that, Vang0. I’m just lookin’ ta sleep. I don’t expect—”

“You want me.” Vang0 interrupts, repeats. He sounds confident. Impatient, even. “So tell me what to do.” 

“No thank you,” Burger says, wiping the dampness from his fingers on the pillowcase. “Appreciate the offer, but I’m not interested. And anyway, you’re worn out. Just get some shut-eye.” 

“Hmm.” Vang0 _ tsks_, like he’s disappointed, chiding. Which Burger thinks is awful unfair, considerin’ how goddamned hard it is to do the thing he’s s’posed to. “Well. At least let me jerk you off.” 

“No.” 

“Finger you? Suck your dick? I mean, I owe you. And you want to. Obviously.” 

That pale thin-fingered hand pushes at Burger’s crotch—he’s not hard, but his traitor dick twitches like a dog hearin’ its name. 

Burger feels his face redden. “Well, that’s neither here nor there. But no.” 

“Is it that you want to fuck me?” Vang0 cocks his head, narrows his eyes. “Or do you want me to fuck you. Or are you into something freaky. Is it pee stuff?” 

“_No,_” Burger says, but he can barely even keep up with the sudden flush of thoughts— 

“How about this. You keep me for a week and let me detox and I’ll let you do whatever you want. Even pee stuff. _And _I’ll fix up your wifi. Sound fair?” 

He _ sticks out his hand_, like he’s wantin’ a shake on it. A deal. He’s bright-eyed and hopeful, a touch satisfied with himself, that he’s come up with such a good plan, made something out of nothing. Goods in exchange for services. A real city deal. Fair. And more. 

“Uh, I—” 

His voice sticks. Aw hell. Sure as god made little green apples, he wants to take this. Wants Vang0 moaning around his cock, showin’ off what that smart little tongue can do, what tricks his body might remember, even if he doesn’t know where he picked them up— 

oh _ fuck. _God, it’s so—it’s so wrong to think—he shouldn’t—it shouldn’t spark him up like this, get him hard, imagining those spidery limbs clutching at him, keening out, screechy, breathless, begging for more—it’d be the only cock he’s ever had, far as he knows—first time he ever comes, he could be screaming Burger’s name— 

“—I—no. No, no. That’s not—no.” He pushes Vang0’s hand to the bed, bodily, presses this offer down and out and over. Temptation’s a bitch, but Burger was raised right. He knows ya can’t just have something ‘cause you want it real bad.

“So you don’t want me to stay,” Vang0 says, curtly. 

“No, no, I’m not sayin’—stay. If ya need to. Want to. Just ya don’t owe me for it.” 

“I already owe you,” Vang0 pauses, his eyes flick, “like 38 credits? Plus more if you feed me tomorrow. And whatever a room for the night is worth around here. I—” he screws up his nose. “I can’t remember what that’d cost. But I don’t know if that got wiped or just I didn’t know that kinda thing, before. Let’s say a hundred credits?” 

“No, it’s not—consider it a—” Burger feels quite unanchored. Kid talks so reasonable, dispassionate—it grinds against the wretched, awful, lusty things inside him, coarse grit against something smooth and fine. “—it’s just a favor, I guess. It’s charity. A week? No trouble.” 

Vang0 scoffs. “I can’t pay you. I’m not up to running yet, apparently. I’m gonna be—” he pauses. “Well. I’m not sure. Puking at least. For the next few days. It’s gonna be a mess. It’s stupid to let me stay for nothing.” 

“That’s right,” Burger sighs in relief, relaxes. “Sounds like me. I do stupid. Ask anyone. So sleep. I don’t need anything from ya, then.” 

Burger isn’t the best at reading people. Maybe Vang0 is uncommonly readable though, not havin’ more’n’a day’s memories to cloud and complicate things. His face draws together, darkens. He bites his lip. He’s thinking, but it’s a particularly pointed kind of thinking. Pointed at Burger. He jerks between emotions, calculating, like a boxer shifting his weight. It pricks parts of Burger that don't fit where he is, spinning up his pulse in his ears like he's rarin' for a fight. 

“So you’re just going to fall asleep. Next to some stranger. Who you helped no reason. What if I’m a serial killer?” 

That surprises a laugh out of Burger. “Well, I don’t figure you can hurt me, Vang0. Guess ya could try.” 

“What if I steal all your shit and run away.”

“I’m a light sleeper,” he shrugs. “Good luck gettin’ outta here before I notice.” 

“What if I’m lying. About netrunning. What if I can’t even fix the wifi.” 

“No problem. Ya don’t owe me, kid.” 

“What if I’m annoying. Get on your nerves. You get sick of me?” 

“Well, I don’t get too bothered, hey. S’pose I could always pick ya up and just drop ya outside, if you overstayed your welcome. But that prob’ly won’t happen, truth be told.” 

Vang0 blinks. “You’re an idiot.”

“...come again?” 

“You’re an _ idiot_,” he barks. Burger frowns, but grits down his hackles. “What the fuck are you _ doing_. If you don’t want anything from me. Why’d you bring me here? If you don’t think I’m pretty, or useful, or whatever.”

“I’m sure you’re plenty useful. And I’m not sayin’ you’re not a looker, Vang0. I just don’t want to take anything—”

“There’s nothing to _ take_,” Vang0 snaps, right over Burger’s attempt at an unbothered tone. Well, all right then. “I have nothing to take. Except—” he gestures, a quick shake of the hand, up and down his body, “—and like, you know you could take that, right? Obviously. You’re not so stupid you don’t know that, are you?” 

The sneer spiderwebs a little crack into something in Burger, something he’d rather not break. He lifts his hand up against it—forgot his hand was down on Vang0’s, pressing down—brings it up to grip the slim shoulder. He’s never been a great talker, but he knows how to work a person, scare ‘em just a bit, remind them who he is. Who they’re talkin’ to. 

Although of course, Vang0 has no idea who he’s talking to. The little freak just _ grins. _

“Oh, really? Oh my god, are you _ that _ dumb? Did you just realize _ now _that you can take whatever you want?” 

It takes all Burger’s concentration not to spit a foul thing out like _ oh you bet I’ve thought about it_, takes every bit of focus not to _growl, _dark and hot and angry, and in the chaos of gettin’ his feet back under him, words-wise, he finds his fingers have moved, hand’s curling around that long lean pretty throat— 

and this asshole’s still _ talking _— 

“Holy shit you’re stupid,” he squirms. At some point he got his fingers up to pull at Burger’s hand, but it doesn’t much matter, ‘cause he’s still smirking and still _ talking_. “Why would you—right now—try to—take something I’m going to—I’m trying to _ give you. _Just like—c’mon—I’m like—way more fun to fuck when I’m playing along. Just—make the deal, you idiot—just like—shake on it and then—tell me how you wanna get off—”

The breathless way he's—ah shit, he’s squeezing. Hell. He lets up with his fingers, but by then the talking starts again— 

“Maybe you’re into the fighting? Is that like—you want me to kick and beg and scream and cry and stuff? I can totally do it. No biggie. Just make the deal. Then you’ll get whatever it is. If you don’t—” his face contorts a bit. He’s pink. “I’ll, um. I’ll make it no fun. You like kicking? I’ll go still as a corpse. Won’t say a word. No good reactions. You’ll wish you said yes.” 

“I don’t—_shut up _—”

“No. Is your dick broke or something? Do you not have one? I can work with whatever you’ve got down there.” 

“You’re _ really _fuckin’ pushing it, kid,” Burger growls down dark and deep. Getting shaken by neck is no fun for most people, and Vang0 scrabbles, gasps, doesn’t seem to enjoy it much. “Stop this shit. Shut up and go to sleep.” 

“Not until you tell me why you don’t want to fuck me,” he volleys back, red-faced and stubborn. 

“I _ do _ want to fuck you, ya little asshole. And _ sure as shit _I know I could. But it’s not right.”

“_Knew it_.” He’s grinning. Again. What the hell. “So let’s go, big guy.” 

“I’m not gonna take advantage! It’s not right!”

“So—let me get this straight—strangling me—is cool,” Vang0 bites out, effortful, scathing. “But—consensual—sex is out. You’re a—agh—a weird guy, Burger. Keep going then I guess. You’ll—put me to sleep—eventually.” 

That runs down Burger’s back like a pot of boiling water tipped off a hob.

He lets go, scalded. Both hands, completely. Gets them off the kid. He didn’t know when he started usin’ two, to be honest. He...he tries to squeeze his eyes shut, but like always the one just—it doesn’t do that. Maybe the new models do. Burger’s oc-implant is a few generations back. So he’s stuck staring at his hands, whether he wants to or not. 

“Just...can we fuck, then?” Vang0’s voice comes softer, not quite coaxing. When he's not talkin' loud the fluttery sound comes back. Not fear, Burger doesn't think. Just the jitters. “We shake hands, we fuck, you promise to let me stick around a bit? And feed me. And not strangle me. Sound good?”

It does sound good. Burger sighs. 

“Why should you trust _ me, _then?” 

Vang0 laughs, breathy. “It’s totally logical to trust you, Burger. You like me. You want me. You were trying to do me a favor. You seem like a nice guy. Your impulse control is...only okay.” 

“Ya got me there,” he mutters, but it’s not feeling as sullen as it sounds. 

“I mean, it’s a gamble, but remember what I’ve got to lose. I.e. nothing. So let’s shake, okay? Let’s make friends and make a deal and then you can fuck my brains out? I think that’s what you want.” A pause, like a program hanging as it shakes itself out of a for-loop, executes one last command. “I want that too, by the way? You’re my type. If that helps?”

Does it help? 

Is it a lie? 

He can’t tell if it’s a lie. Can’t tell if Vang0’s playing him. 

Well, actually, this weasel’s _ surely _ playin’ him, in some way, some wild and stupid crazy way that Burger just can’t think straight enough to figure out. He’s been in a goldurn argument with his dick _ all night long_, and now it seems like it’s recruited this trigger-quick junkie to plead its hungry case. Strange bedfellows, they are. 

“All right.” 

Burger sticks out his hand. Vang0 smiles. 

“Ya got a deal.” 

The slim blue-tipped fingers press into Burger’s rough palm. 

“Ya happy, then?” 

“Very. Glad I could save you from being a _complete_ moron.” 

“Now _ get on your goddurn knees, _ya brat.” 

0̺̜̠͉͓̯͎͎̼̰́̓̿̍̚͝͝0̹͔̯͍͖̳͐͆̂̐͑̄̀̄0̴̨̝̦̘͈̏̐͆̅1̛̮̟̮̙̩̻̓̾̃͛̑̋͂͝1͉̠̩͎̓̽̿̍̂̾͢͢͜0̸̧̯̟͚̼̤͖̜̍͛̐̆͝͡1̧̝̟̬̪̼̓̊̃̎̽͠0̲̠̜͔̖̥̹̟͋͑̔̿̍̉͑1̱͍̹̫͕̖̮̅̾̈́̾̇͐͡1̸̛̩͚̻̖̹̪̄̓̑̑͆̌͟ͅ0͚̲̫̬͙̱͗̍̓͌͑̄̎̔ͅ1̴̼͇͎͕͉̈́̈́̓̎̕͝ͅ0̟̦͈̫͎̄̿́͐̋̕͜ͅ1̡̢͖͓͚̫͍͎̍̀̉͐̈̍̏͊͛,


	2. 7rashed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warnings:  
\- **pronouns** alter throughout in a manner reflective of vang0's self-characterization  
\- there is an **explicit sex scene** which has various transactional, coercive, dubiously-consensual, physically painful, and semi-conscious elements. the read on the whole scene has some ambiguity, but steer clear if any of these are uncomfortable for you, particularly in the POV character.

Oh _ fuck— _

that ain’t no thumbdrive Burger’s sporting down there, sure as _ shit _ no—that thing’d be measured in _ petabytes _if it were a cybernetic—but whether he paid for a vanity piece or it came factory-installed, it’s big. Vang0 wonders how it would feel— 

no, no, best not to unzip that at the moment. Don’t fucking think about how things _ feel_, whether they lurch or reel or ache or shudder. It’s immaterial, the way Vang0’s knees feel on the concrete, the clench of their stomach, the sudden uptick in salivation. That could be anticipation, even. Excitement. Whatever. 

It’s a decent-looking cock, in Vang0’s estimation. Pale skin ridged with blue veins that obtrude impressively, pathways for exploring fingertips that might be real or might be artfully-concealed wires. The hair at the base is dark and curly and wild—definitely untended-to, but not a total disaster. Probably a stray strand will get caught unpleasantly in their mouth, but whatever. The tip is wide and pink, moves on toward red as Vang0 presses lips to it, breathes hot and wet nearby and draws away to examine the results. 

Burger’s breath quickens, that’s all. 

_ If I was into dick before, _ Vang0 thinks, _ this one’d probably be a real prize. _

Fuck_. _It’s just—it’s the biggest cock Vang0’s ever seen, is the thing. 

Well, of course it is. That’s fucking stupid. What the fuck kind of idiot thing to think is that. But well— 

even in a small pond, this one seems like a pretty big fish—

_ you can handle this, Vang0 Bang0. _

Comparative measurements are out. But objectively, it’s like. About a foot long? Maybe not quite that long. Curves up. Not perfectly symmetrical or anything. And it’s girthy, but like…how do you fucking estimate circumference, anyhow? It’s the size of the old stim remotes, designed to get a hand around, but Vang0 always had stupid tiny hands, anyway—one time he remembers he— 

_ ow fuck! _

0̺̜̠͉͓̯͎͎̼̰́̓̿̍̚͝͝0̹͔̯͍͖̳͐͆̂̐͑̄̀̄0̴̨̝̦̘͈̏̐͆̅1̛̮̟̮̙̩̻̓̾̃͛̑̋͂͝1͉̠̩͎̓̽̿̍̂̾͢͢͜0̸̧̯̟͚̼̤͖̜̍͛̐̆͝͡1̧̝̟̬̪̼̓̊̃̎̽͠0̲̠̜͔̖̥̹̟͋͑̔̿̍̉͑1̱͍̹̫͕̖̮̅̾̈́̾̇͐͡1̸̛̩͚̻̖̹̪̄̓̑̑͆̌͟ͅ0͚̲̫̬͙̱͗̍̓͌͑̄̎̔ͅ1̴̼͇͎͕͉̈́̈́̓̎̕͝ͅ0̟̦͈̫͎̄̿́͐̋̕͜ͅ1̡̢͖͓͚̫͍͎̍̀̉͐̈̍̏͊͛

Well, it seems like things started off okay. It’s lucky Burger’s patient. 

Vang0 catches themself in the middle of teasing a bit, stroking lightly, licking delicate up the side, nosing into the crease of Burger’s thigh where it smells warm and earthy but not _ completely _foul. It’s just sweat and heat, human and untechnical. Familiar, but not too familiar. 

Some vague empyreal sense of pacing guides their work, suggests when to press and when to linger. Vang0 lets himself enjoy the soft escalation of sounds—breaths, hisses, gasps, moans—that are cut-off, restrained, forced-out above.

_ I’m good at this, _he thinks. 

Makes sense. It’s not like it’s rocket science. Stick the dongle in the port and go to town. 

There _ is _a little finesse in the execution, though, and at some point in some former life Vang0 must’ve downloaded a few tricks. One clever wrist-twist syncs up with a flick of the tongue, a hard and hungry sucking hum, a flirty look, and the dam breaks. Burger— 

_ ah, shit _— 

grips at their hair, tangles thick fingers in, _ pulls _—

“_Fuck _ , Vang0, ya gotta— _ please _—” 

Vang0 hitches a breath and makes his throat wide and prepares to be face-fucked until he retches— 

doesn’t happen, though. 

Burger’s holding back, it seems. For the moment. The wide hands hold Vang0’s head firm but not pushing. Warning, maybe, or maybe just desperate, gripping for purchase against the onslaught of too-much-not-enough pleasure. 

Vang0 sucks in a slow, careful breath through his nose, and dares to slide back a little, bargain for an inch of distance between their mouth and the tip. There’s no restriction, no yank, no protest. Good. Okay. He resumes. 

It’s a lot of surface area to cover. Vang0 slurps up both sides, gets it nice and wet before they wrap slick hands around the base. They feel confident in how to handle Burger’s size, an instinctiveness Vang0’s not keen to examine right now. Maybe they just had a boyfriend, before, with a nice big dick, bigger even than this one. Maybe they _ loved _ giving head, loved licking and gasping with fake-not-fake enthusiasm. Maybe it was fun, to drag their tongue hard against the bottom and pull back to suckle at the head, to blink up through their lashes, innocent and wanton. Maybe it felt kind of hot, jaw aching, face slicked with spit, taking whatever you’re given. Maybe it was empowering, to pull a _ moan _out of a big man like Burger, to make him sound wrecked and feeble and desperate. To feel the corded muscles of his thighs tensing under Vang0’s light fingertips. To make it harder and harder to hold back. 

_ I could make him beg me, _ the thought springs to Vang0’s mind, unbidden. _ I think he would. _

That’d be stupid, though. Why push his luck. Instead, he curls his hand firm around the base and starts moving up and down in earnest, both hands coordinating with mouth and lips and tongue. 

“Oh _ god_.” Burger sucks a wet breath through his teeth. His accent’s rounding a bit, deepening in the vowels, as he loosens up. “You’re— _ Jesus _—”

“Mmm-mm,” Vang0 disagrees, mouth full but still bratty enough to hum around the cock it’s sloppy-mouthing at. He lets go with his hands and flashes a quick _ vee-bee. _Cocky, maybe, but he wants to remind Burger who, exactly, is blowing his mind right now. Heaven doesn’t get the credit for this one.

“Van...goh-oh,” the man above him moans, an inarticulate sound of hunger and exasperation. Maybe even affection. 

Vang0 finds they like the sound of their name like that, drawn out, fragmented, whined around uncertain breath. They like how it’s undone, a little vulnerable. So far from calm. 

Everything about Burger is...not polished, exactly. He’s calm, but not refined. But still, there’s something _ burnished _about him, something well-worn and well-kept, like an antique revolver stored carefully oiled. Sanguine. Beautiful. 

There’s lots of reasons to do a good job at this, but Vang0 also finds they really _ want to. _Weird.

_ Guess I’m probably into dicks then. _

Time to make a show of it. He rounds his lips, opens his mouth wide as it will go, slides down the length inch by slobbery inch, slow and deliberate. Burger clutches the base of their scalp with an ugly gulp, but doesn’t push or pull, not even when Vang0 hesitates. He’s not afraid. What the fuck is there to be afraid of. It’s just a cock. He’s just trying to calculate the payoff of going all the way versus the risk that whoever he was before had a strong gag reflex. 

“You’re fucking—incredible,” Burger grunts low and reverent. “_Fuck, _your throat is—god—how can you—you’ve never—”

It’s impossible to smirk in this moment, but Vang0 stores it away for later. He _ knew _he’d be good at this. Might as well give it a shot, then. Might as well go whole hog. They close their eyes, push up on their knees, hands guiding to line up their throat more carefully. He sucks a breath. Presses further down. 

Yeah, I mean, it’s not like they have _ no _gag reflex. It’s there, in the back of their throat, a deep unpleasant hitch that Vang0 ignores. 

_ Kind of a party trick, _ drifts through their mind, _ but guys seem to like it. _

When the spit-slicked back-and-forth begins it’s—

_ shit. _Fuck. No, it’s fine. Just annoying. How tense and prickling-wet their throat feels, how it jumps in protest. They need to focus though, on getting their jaw wide, shielding teeth, and at least the ache of stretching their jaw around the girth is—distracts from—

_ fuck. _

He gasps, pulls off sudden—

before he’s even done trying not to retch, his damp palms take the place of his mouth, pump— 

buy time to catch his breath—

it doesn’t seem to bother Burger, the pause. Or the gagging. Hah, there’s no soft _ ya don’t have ta _now, is there? Just heavy breathing and big hands, guilty lust-filled moans and hungry jerks of his hips. Fair enough. At least things are going good so far. Burger seems pretty close, as far as Vang0 can tell. 

He throws their energy into licking, sucking the tip, swirling his tongue, swallowing back down the spit and precome. 

There’s tears on his face. That’s not bad, that’s normal. A physical thing. It happens when you jab at your soft palate.

He can’t take all of Burger’s length, though, deep-throating skills be damned. But there’s someone in him that knows how to fake it _ good_, to sync up slick tight-wristed undulations with the movements of his mouth, his attempts to choke real pretty and gag in a way that’s endearingly unguarded. 

Burger’s a peach about it all, actually. He stays—well, not _ still _ —but pliant, lets Vang0 work. His hands stroke damp hairs from their brow, almost tender, cradling the base of their skull, gentle in that moment—of course those hands _ could _turn rough, could get impatient, could tense and force their head down like they’re something hollow, empty, unfilled, unfeeling— 

but no, that’s—Burger’s not going to do that, Vang0 thinks. It wouldn’t make sense. Burger’s what Vang0 figured. Just wants his dick warm and wet, to do something a little filthy and keep his conscience clean. Mostly clean. Ninety-percent chance he’ll wake up tomorrow feeling guilty about this, which’ll be fucking useful, ‘cause there’s not gonna be any cute morning stuff on Vang0’s end. Nah, if it finishes strong, Vang0 can probably ride on this blowjob for at least a day of shame-faced favors. Burger’s a pretty nice guy. Horny, sure, but not cruel. Vang0’s had way worse. He reme—

_ fuck! _

0̺̜̠͉͓̯͎͎̼̰́̓̿̍̚͝͝0̹͔̯͍͖̳͐͆̂̐͑̄̀̄0̴̨̝̦̘͈̏̐͆̅1̛̮̟̮̙̩̻̓̾̃͛̑̋͂͝1͉̠̩͎̓̽̿̍̂̾͢͢͜0̸̧̯̟͚̼̤͖̜̍͛̐̆͝͡1̧̝̟̬̪̼̓̊̃̎̽͠0̲̠̜͔̖̥̹̟͋͑̔̿̍̉͑1̱͍̹̫͕̖̮̅̾̈́̾̇͐͡1̸̛̩͚̻̖̹̪̄̓̑̑͆̌͟ͅ0͚̲̫̬͙̱͗̍̓͌͑̄̎̔ͅ1̴̼͇͎͕͉̈́̈́̓̎̕͝ͅ0̟̦͈̫͎̄̿́͐̋̕͜ͅ1̡̢͖͓͚̫͍͎̍̀̉͐̈̍̏͊͛

“—ang0?_ ” _

It’s black. True black. CMYK Black. Fucking (0,0,0). 

“Are ya alright?” 

It _ hurts_. Smarts. Somewhere. Not sure where. 

Stinging, is how it hurts. Or burning. Kinda burning? Maybe—gut or chest or neck on up— 

no it’s behind their eyes— 

_ oh fuck oh fuck— _

Their hands scrabble up to their face, find closed lids, push them open and blink desperately. A whimper sounds, scratches like sandpaper. 

Oh thank god. It’s still dark, but not pitch-dark anymore. Just the normal old dark of inside, somewhere enclosed. A room, a warehouse. 

A red light blinks. An aug, an LED. It draws the attention like a moth, studded in the midst of a dark grey shadow, a body, a person. 

“Where am I?” their gasp scythes through the dark. “Who are you?” 

There’s a heavy sigh. Well hell, that doesn’t seem like the right response to that question. 

“Do ya know who _ you _are?” 

_ Who am— _

“Vang0 Bang0. I’m Vang0. And you’re—” 

_ Burger? _

“—you’ve got—a stupid fucking name.” 

A chuckle. Kind of a sad one. “That’s right. Now, I’m gonna lift ya up for a sec, yeah? I won’t hurt ya. Just hold on—” 

Vang0 feels pain but nothing more detailed, more localized. Presumably Burger is making good on his promise of lifting without hurting. He’s a little rough-mannered, Vang0 remembers, but he’d probably try to be gentle. As much as he can. 

Then Vang0’s lying somewhere. Somewhere soft. A bed. They’re—

okay. Naked waist down. That’s fine then. No need to be here for this. 

0̺̜̠͉͓̯͎͎̼̰́̓̿̍̚͝͝0̹͔̯͍͖̳͐͆̂̐͑̄̀̄0̴̨̝̦̘͈̏̐͆̅1̛̮̟̮̙̩̻̓̾̃͛̑̋͂͝1͉̠̩͎̓̽̿̍̂̾͢͢͜0̸̧̯̟͚̼̤͖̜̍͛̐̆͝͡1̧̝̟̬̪̼̓̊̃̎̽͠0̲̠̜͔̖̥̹̟͋͑̔̿̍̉͑1̱͍̹̫͕̖̮̅̾̈́̾̇͐͡1̸̛̩͚̻̖̹̪̄̓̑̑͆̌͟ͅ0͚̲̫̬͙̱͗̍̓͌͑̄̎̔ͅ1̴̼͇͎͕͉̈́̈́̓̎̕͝ͅ0̟̦͈̫͎̄̿́͐̋̕͜ͅ1̡̢͖͓͚̫͍͎̍̀̉͐̈̍̏͊͛

“He just knocked out, Tap, fast as anything. Went down like a stone.”

The voice is gruff. Wet. 

“No, no. It’s not that. He’s breathin’.” 

A pause. Tinny sound. A comm. 

“Hasn’t taken anything, no. Was maybe uh…exertin’ himself a bit before. But it wasn’t—” 

Oh. The voice is talking about him. Vang0 Bang0. 

“Well. Two-three minutes most. Then he was up, then talked a bit, then back out and—no, I don’t know, truth be told. Let me see.” 

The voice is Burger. Burger Chainz. Stupid name. Stupid guy. But nice. Horny. Vang0 remembers convincing him to— 

The back of a hand touches his forehead unexpectedly and Vang0 can’t stop himself from flinching, jerking back like a wild thing. 

“I’m good,” they force out, a dry-mouthed hiss, before their eyes can really focus. “Burger, I’m _ fine_.”

“Vang0, ya—” he cuts himself off, mid-sentence, uncertain. “That’s good ta hear, kid. Just don’t move so much, yeah? Get back down. And let me see if ya got a fever.” 

Vang0 licks his lips. They’re cracked. He feels anxious, out of his skin, three steps behind in loading the necessary memories into RAM. “No fever,” he offers, though he doesn’t lie back down, stays in his wary crouch. “Just hot for you, daddy. Let’s go back to what we were doing. I’ll make it up to you.” 

Burger frowns, pulls back, stands. He’s got underwear on now. Hmm, so it’s light enough that Vang0 can see. When did the lights come on? 

“He’s startin’ to feel it, yeah,” Burger says into his comm. “And he remembers m—oh.” 

The tinny voice isn’t clear to Vang0, but whatever it says makes Burger flush, embarrassed.

“Not like that, Tap. I’m just lookin’ to help him out. Not a—no, no, we're not _fucking_, Tap, he's still defragging. Jesus. ” 

Oh, _ fuck. _ This is bad. Very bad. Oh shit shit fucking shit why would he _ lie_. 

“Hang up,” Vang0 mouths, whisper-quiet on instinct, pantomimes hitting switch on a comm. “I’m fine.” 

Burger examines them a long moment, screws up his face inscrutably. Whatever this Tap is saying, Vang0 doesn’t want Burger to listen to it anymore. They had a deal. He can't afford to let some stranger fuck it up. Why would Tap even care--

“Well, thank you much, Tap. Call me if ya get a lead on anything for him.” 

—that clanks into Vang0’s chest like a drop in a steel rain bucket. Burns like acid.

He sucks a jittery breath and gives straight in to begging. 

“_Please, _Burger. I couldn’t help it. ”

“Shh. Stop that." 

“Give me a do-over?"

"No, Vang--"

"--if I short out again you can just keep on—"

"_Shut up."_

Oh fuck, he’s angry. Red-faced and scowling. Vang0 opens his mouth to protest again but— 

“No. Ya puked all over the damn floor, and I ain’t gonna let you make yourself—you’re not gonna do it again, y’hear?” 

Oh _ fuck. _Vang0 closes his eyes and prepares for… 

well. There’s like, maybe four or five different things that could happen right now? The first three are okay. He maybe should tell Burger that if you puke when you’re gagged it comes out your nose and makes just as much of a mess. But if he’s _ not _thinking along those lines, Vang0 doesn’t want to give him any ideas.

_Please don''t throw me out._

“Lie down."

“...which way?” 

"Huh?"

Vang0 swallows and makes their voice be small. Contrite. Absolutely guts any instinct to mock this strange, slow-thinking sometimes-friend. “Face up or down?”

This is the wrong thing to say, apparently, ‘cause Burger gives another deep, disappointed sigh.

_C'mon big guy what am I doing wrong I need a fucking clue or two here. _

“It doesn’t—Vang0, either way. Whatever way ya want."

It must make his face do something, compiling that sentence, because Burger's looking straight at him full-faced and scowling, and then in a beat he winces like he's been scolded.

"I’m not gonna fuck you, Vang0. I just want ya to stop lookin’ like you’re gonna pass out.” 

Oh. Cool.

“Please,” Vang0 says instead of thank you, and flops down hard and belly-first. 

They’ve got new clothes on. A soft t-shirt, not the wifebeater from earlier. Boxers. They’re soft. They feel good. 

“We had a deal,” Vang0 murmurs miserably into the pillow, though he doesn’t know exactly what he’s even complaining for. "So I could stay."

It was a good deal. Beautiful. Made total sense. This stupid fucking body got in the way---

“Mmmhmm,” Burger sighs, strokes a hand down Vang0’s back, rubs a circle into fabric into sweat into skin. “Deal’s still on. Already came down your throat, kid, though sure as shootin’ I’m goin’ to the bad place for it.” 

There’s like—maybe a 50% chance that’s a lie? because Vang0’s mouth tastes too strange and numb and metallic to know if— 

maybe like a 70% chance. Burger’s not the type to hold back, but if the puking happened concomitant with the blacking out— 

well, either way that probably means Vang0’s good, right? At least for a day? At least one day. Before he gets kicked out, or fucked raw, or passed on to some mysterious Tap, or brought back to that fucking warehouse— 

“I’m not kickin' ya out. And Tap’s just trying to tell me how to help ya detox.” 

“Shit,” Vang0 swears, and groans, and tries to turn on his side. He can’t. 

He can’t trust himself to talk, to think. To remember enough that this makes sense. So what the fuck has he got. 

“You been out for a bit,” Burger says, continues rubbing a vague pattern, mostly between the shoulder blades. “Up and down a coupla times, but mostly just out.” 

“Thanks,” Vang0 ekes out. “For—cleaning me up. Sorry. For the mess.” 

“No trouble,” Burger says, fast and honest. “It wasn’t much.” The hand pauses, in its rubbing. “I never shoulda done that to you, Vang0. I’m sorry.” 

Instead of responding—offering absolution here would be fucking idiotic—throwing a fit even worse—no, Vang0 just lets the sound of guilt wrap around him like a blanket. It soothes his chills, his goosebumps better than anything so far. God, thank god, guilt, yes, good. Good. Perfect. 

There’s a long pause. 

“Do you...um. Do ya want me to sleep in the van, or—”

“_No_.” 

“Ya don’t have to—”

“Please stay,” Vang0 begs, and it’s plaintive, and he means it. “I’m so…it’s cold. Please. Would you—can you hold me?” 

Burger relents easily, a murmured sound on his lips, something like relief. 

He curls up behind Vang0, an arm under his head, another wrapping around his side. His arms are so big, his stupid palm spans most of Vang0’s whole chest. His skin feels cool, but that’s probably not the case—probably Vang0’s just a furnace, dumping entropy into the nearest heat sink—either that, or Burger’s cold with fear and guilt. Fine, either way. 

“I’m sorry I did that to you,” Burger murmurs, soft, into Vang0’s hair. 

“I wanted you to,” Vang0 says, and that’s the gods’ honest truth. “You have a nice cock, Burger. Stupid name, but a nice cock. Sorry if I got a little overexcited. It’s like netrunning. I keep thinking I can—you know. Just jump into things.” 

Burger feigns a chuckle, strokes that overlarge hand down Vang0’s arm. 

“Just take it easy, yeah? Go ta sleep.” 

“ ‘Kay,” Vang0 says, ‘cause like duh, what the hell else is there to do. 

0̺̜̠͉͓̯͎͎̼̰́̓̿̍̚͝͝0̹͔̯͍͖̳͐͆̂̐͑̄̀̄0̴̨̝̦̘͈̏̐͆̅1̛̮̟̮̙̩̻̓̾̃͛̑̋͂͝1͉̠̩͎̓̽̿̍̂̾͢͢͜0̸̧̯̟͚̼̤͖̜̍͛̐̆͝͡1̧̝̟̬̪̼̓̊̃̎̽͠0̲̠̜͔̖̥̹̟͋͑̔̿̍̉͑1̱͍̹̫͕̖̮̅̾̈́̾̇͐͡1̸̛̩͚̻̖̹̪̄̓̑̑͆̌͟ͅ0͚̲̫̬͙̱͗̍̓͌͑̄̎̔ͅ1̴̼͇͎͕͉̈́̈́̓̎̕͝ͅ0̟̦͈̫͎̄̿́͐̋̕͜ͅ1̡̢͖͓͚̫͍͎̍̀̉͐̈̍̏͊͛

_ I wonder if I’m a heavy sleeper. _

Signs point to yes, when Vang0 wakes up and Burger’s already gone. That could be a drug thing, though. Just ‘cause they slept like the dead and the world’s covered in violet sparks right now doesn’t mean anything, necessarily. 

They throw off the pile of blankets. Hm. Not chained to the bed, then. Weird. Burger’s pretty fucking stupid. 

He turns out every drawer, examines the depth and breadth of Burger’s possessions, shoves every useful thing he can find in a pile. Not a lot, really, but enough to make a go. Depending on what district he’s in, he can probably pull apart a couple of these gadgets and fence ‘em to some skeevy sysadmin for a few nights on a server farm. Not, like, a _ clean _one, but probably something okay. The clothes are all too big, but Vang0 can rock some cutoffs. There’s medkits. Big bag of kibble, couple bars of R3d Bu11 and a little stash of nicer food. Water tablets. Sewing kit. Knife and fork. Jumper cables. 

Vang0 frowns at the pile—how the _ fuck _are they gonna carry all this. Doesn’t Burger have like a backpack or something? 

He roots around, looking for a duffel in the bottom of the closet. Instead, he finds a gun. And bullets. _ Lots _of bullets. 

Because his fingers load it automatically, he figures he’s had one of these before. Definitely knows how to fire it, hard to tell how good his aim is. Best not to be too cocky about that. 

Vang0 makes one last circle of the room, puts his hand on every piece of gear, every belt and buckle. There’s a trash bag to carry stuff in for now; with luck he’ll find something better soon. In the pocket of a flannel there’s some pills, and Vang0 takes them without pause or hesitation. Whatever they are, they have to help. Finally, he downs a handful of kibble and goes to roll up the door. 

Oh. It doesn’t budge. A big old lock in the bottom left corner—that makes sense. Stupid. Stupid to think he’d just be allowed to— 

well, that’s fine. It might take him a while, but he can pick that. Or maybe shoot it off, if it comes to it. 

He pulls open his laptop, fiddles around for a bit. It loads into the homepage—the jumptrash forum, just like before. Vang0 doesn’t know exactly what this place is, but he knows he mods it. And he knows at least a few people on here will answer his posts. 

_ today’s challenge: come up with a low-tech hack for this lock. winner gets six months plat for free. \/ :b: _

He posts the picture and pins the thread, then looks around for…something. He was looking for something…? 

Mmm. The pills are starting to kick in a bit. He feels dreamier, easier. And also like he really needs to pee. Ah, shit. That was it. Where does Burger want him to pee? There’s no fucking _ sink _in here, let alone a bathroom. He’s got an empty pop can somewhere, but pissing in that would be a whole production. 

When nothing presents itself despite his languid searching, Vang0 sighs and starts pulling off the blankets, hunting for that can. Must be somewhere. Pillows and sheets go flying, and also— 

huh. A note. Just a short one, on yellow lined paper, folksy uneven scribbles like someone who doesn’t write by hand often.

> _ Vang0, _
> 
> _ Left to do some work. Be back in three hours. Water and food are in the bottom drawer, take anything you want. Clothes too. If you need help or get sick, I left an old comm next to the bed, call me (BC) or Tap (TK). Bathroom’s down the hall, six units down and on the left. Mind the stock robots because I’m not really supposed to be seen around here. Door lock’s at the bottom left, code is b3rg3r. Yeah, I just used my name. Stupid, you remember. _
> 
> _ -BC _

Huh. 

0̺̜̠͉͓̯͎͎̼̰́̓̿̍̚͝͝0̹͔̯͍͖̳͐͆̂̐͑̄̀̄0̴̨̝̦̘͈̏̐͆̅1̛̮̟̮̙̩̻̓̾̃͛̑̋͂͝1͉̠̩͎̓̽̿̍̂̾͢͢͜0̸̧̯̟͚̼̤͖̜̍͛̐̆͝͡1̧̝̟̬̪̼̓̊̃̎̽͠0̲̠̜͔̖̥̹̟͋͑̔̿̍̉͑1̱͍̹̫͕̖̮̅̾̈́̾̇͐͡1̸̛̩͚̻̖̹̪̄̓̑̑͆̌͟ͅ0͚̲̫̬͙̱͗̍̓͌͑̄̎̔ͅ1̴̼͇͎͕͉̈́̈́̓̎̕͝ͅ0̟̦͈̫͎̄̿́͐̋̕͜ͅ1̡̢͖͓͚̫͍͎̍̀̉͐̈̍̏͊͛

The bathroom’s definitely bootlegged into the city plumbing system, no one here’s paying utilities, but even though the toilet’s situated in a weird wire closet it flushes just fine. 

Vang0 takes the long way back, walks along the iron railing. They’re five stories up, which is nothing in the city but it’s quite a lot out here. It gets you up above the haze, and you can see for a while, and you can’t hear honking or beeping or squealing or shots or nothing. It’s really peaceful, actually. Makes Vang0 feel calm. Or that’s the pills. One or the other. 

He scrambles back past a stock robot—they don’t have cameras, it’s easy, just don’t get in its way—and finds his way back to Burger’s little den. There’s still his pile of loot. He looks at it. Thinks. 

Well. If he’s going to go, he’d better go now. Dangerous, but he’d probably be okay. He really doesn’t fucking feel like it, though. Even the thought of waiting out that robot again, timing out its cycle, is fucking exhausting. 

He wants to stay. Which means some part of him trusts Burger. Thinks he really is a good guy. And y’know, that’s the best thing he’s got to go on right now. Plus, then he can just get some sleep. 

> ` can I come with u tomorrow `

he taps out into the comm.

> ` if I stay in the van? wifi sucks here. \/ :b:`

It’s only a half-stuttered cursory attempt he makes, at putting things back. Fuck it. If Burger’s gonna get pissed at him for the mess, then he shouldn’t’ve left a junkie alone with all his stuff. 

Vang0 downs two more handfuls of kibble and a R3d Bu11 bar, then sets himself up to fuck around on the jumptrash backend until he passes out. It doesn’t take long before the hazy pleasantness wraps him up in buzzy nothing— 

he shoots up, sudden, pulls over the cracked-screen comm— 

> `and can you find me some pants that fit? and a hairdryer. and nail polish. `
> 
> `if im gonna be ur sugar baby im gonna look good doing it. \/ :b:`

—and snuggles back down in his fucked-up blanket nest to sleep. 

**Author's Note:**

> thx all for eggin' me on. will there be more??? who knows! (yes.) - f1shc0la


End file.
